


Chances for Truth

by ButtonPusherExtraordinaire



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Episode: s06e08 Red John, F/M, Honest Conversations, Missing Scene, final confrontation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25558891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButtonPusherExtraordinaire/pseuds/ButtonPusherExtraordinaire
Summary: An (un)timely event inspires a bout of honesty: "Don't you get it? You could have died. And I wouldn't know anything. I'd have known nothing but that stupid mask you have on all the time. I wouldn't know the truth." "You have a mask, too." "But I'm willing to take it off right now. I want to. If I don't, I'll always regret it. You owe me - I deserve it. I want honesty. Specifics."
Relationships: Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**This is set some time in S5. I recently started watching the show and this popped into my head. Hope you enjoy it.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own** _**The Mentalist** _**or any of the characters therein.**

XxXxXxXxXxX

The knife, while not shocking, had been unexpected.

At first, his plan had worked like clockwork, perfectly structured, but whenever encountering human variables, there was a chance for the unexpected. And while he usually foresaw every possibility, because he was human, some things slipped from his gaze.

As Lisbon consistently observed, his arrogance would be the death of him.

_Just as it had killed his family._

Charlie Sturden and his crew had murdered several people, and when Jane led C.B.I. to the warehouse where they had been hiding out, he misjudged the situation, failed to realize the amount of weaponry in the warehouse. Failed to foresee how desperately foolish these men were, willing to get into a firefight with law enforcement.

Hating firefights, Jane took it upon himself to defuse the situation, to fix what only he could.

"Why does it always end in a fight?" he asked, ignoring the twisted countenances of Sturden and his crew. "There's no hope of escape, but _every time_ , they try. Must be testosterone. An evolutionary fallback to when- "

"Shut up," Lisbon hissed out from next to him. "I told you to wait outside."

"And miss this? I did all the work to get us here. I deserve a reward."

Sturden snarled, "Your reward will be a bullet through that smart mouth of yours."

Jane smiled, amused. "Not what I had in mind. Putting you and your men in prison sounds better."

"Fuck you!"

"That's _enough!"_ Lisbon roared, eyes flashing. "Last chance! Drop your weapons!"

Jane felt wary as Sturden grinned, posture subtly shifting. "No. We'll be droppin' bodies."

Then a fusillade of bullets erupted out of their weapons, and Jane dove behind the nearest crate, the clash of gunfire echoing all around, smoke filling the air.

Lisbon landed next to him, eyes urgent. "Get _out_ of here! I mean it! Get the hell out!"

"In the middle of this?" he demanded over the roar of bullets and cries of pain. "I'd probably step in blood."

"Your concern for your precious shoes should be the least of your concerns!" With a controlled burst, Lisbon peaked around the corner of the crate and opened fire with her gun. "Your life is at the top of mine! _Okay?_ I need you to be safe."

Jane was slightly touched by that concern. "Fine. You run off, and when they're distracted, I'll go back out to the S.U.V.s."

Lisbon swiftly reloaded her weapon, a grateful expression on her face. " _Thank_ you. Now be ready."

Opening fire, she bolted to the side and regrouped with Cho and Rigsby behind another crate. Jane was all alone, and after several more seconds of cataloging the frequency of bullets near him, judged that it was his chance.

Darting to his feet, he kept his head down, sneaking past tarps and crates, and when he saw the large doorway to the warehouse, his movement quickened.

But then a hand snared his arm and yanked him past a crate, throwing him to the ground. While he was too busy staring down the barrel of the gun Sturden pointed at his head, Jane dimly noticed that he was in clear view of the others, but they were all engaged with the rest of Sturden's crew, oblivious.

He was alone, trapped.

" _You,_ " Sturden murmured, eyes alight with excitement. "You've brought my entire operation down on my head. The least I can do is take your head with me."

Jane didn't dare look away or call for help, knowing a predator would strike at the sign of weakness; instead, he slowly rose to his feet, hands held out in front of him. "Guns don't help with decapitations."

Sturden dropped the gun and reached behind his back, pulling out a long, dangerous-looking knife, all while gunfire echoed in the air, cracking like thunder in Jane's ears.

" _This_ will."

"Oh," he said softly, panic beginning to rage through him; he was unprepared! "Think about what you're doing."

"It's all I've thought about since you brought these Five-O fuckers here."

"I'll help you escape," Jane offered quickly. "I can get you away undetected. They'll never know what happened."

Sturden narrowed his eyes. "Bullshit. I've heard about you. You're just tryin' to spin me 'round with promises."

"You want money?"

"I want your _head._ "

"Don't be stupid," Jane said slowly, spacing his words for maximum effect, trying to buy more time. "If you kill me, they'll kill you."

"Don't care." Lisbon twisted the knife in his fingers, grip tightening, and Jane backed away cautiously. "I'll die before I go to prison."

" _Jane!"_

Instinctively, he glanced towards where Lisbon stared at him from across the warehouse, horrified, but that was a mistake.

A flash of movement registered, and Sturden surged forward with manic eyes, the knife slashing towards his face.

Jane, provoked by a primal urge to stave off inevitable death, whipped his head back, and the knife sliced the available flesh; the eruption of blood gushed out over Sturden's hand, and his own hands flew to his neck on instinct as he fell to his knees.

" _No!"_ Lisbon screamed, distraught, but if she moved towards him, she'd be shot by one of Sturden's crew. " _Jane!_ Help him! _Somebody_ help!"

He blinked rapidly and heard bullets sailing over him, causing Sturden to jump back, sliding behind the nearest crate, but he was in Jane's line-of-sight as he crouched, blood-slick knife in hand.

Blood spilled past Jane's fingers and he couldn't breathe, mind on fire with panic; his Memory Palace burned brighter in his mind, and against his will, images assaulted him of that night - _the night!_

 _No!_ Jane fell to the ground, hands desperately trying to stem the tide of blood as his perception of time slowed. _Not yet! Not now! Get away from me!_

The mists obscured his vision, but he wasn't ready! He didn't want to die! Red John's black heart still beat! His time couldn't be over! He couldn't fail! Not when he finally had such a valuable source of information in Lorelei! As long as Red John's heart still beats, his purpose in the world hasn't been extinguished! His vengeance hadn't been satisfied! He still had plans! He wanted to live!

_Fight it!_

Jane could hear the team crying out his name, Lisbon's voice louder and more frantic than the rest, but he suddenly realized that his body wasn't growing weaker. Rather, adrenaline flowed under his skin, inspiring incredible strength and awareness.

That's when he realized that he wasn't going to die; the flesh under his chin had been slit, not his throat.

A fierce, almost psychopathic rage filled his heart, and with one hand still stemming the blood flow, putting pressure on what he had thought was a mortal wound, Jane reached out with his other hand - _it was stained with blood just like that night!_ \- to grab Sturden's discarded gun.

He had almost been killed before his ordained time. Before Red John was dead. That was unacceptable, a shame above all shames.

With what felt like lightning in his eyes, Jane locked gazes with the hidden Sturden, gun raised, and on-target. He watched as realization filled Sturden, and the man sprung forward in a desperate, futile attempt to stop him.

Jane fired the gun, unblinking as Sturden's head exploded in a shower of fine red mist.

Footsteps rushed toward him from behind, and Jane, with adrenaline strengthening his limbs, sprung back and around in one motion, gun raised. He paused when Lisbon stared back at him, the stricken hysteria on her face slowly morphing into raw relief; tears were in her eyes, and they spilled down her cheeks.

"You're _okay,_ " she breathed out, falling to her knees as she reached for Sturden's gun. "I need a medic over here!"

"Not quite," he corrected softly, more blood streaming past his fingers as she took the gun. "I need stitches."

"Glad to see you're all right," Cho intoned, but his eyes flickered with something.

"You gave us quite a scare, man," Rigsby whispered, shock still on his face.

" _Jane,_ " Grace whispered, eyes wet. "We thought…"

Lisbon turned back around, movements swift and frantic. "I'll take care of him until help's here. You all take care of everything. You know what to do."

They dispersed, some more hesitantly than others.

She pulled out a cloth from her vest and her clothed-hand replaced Jane's blood-stained hand, and Jane felt all of the strength from the adrenaline rush begin to dissipate; he laid his head back on Lisbon's lap, body growing lax.

"You _jackass,_ " Lisbon whispered above him, face pinched, nearly quivering. "I- I thought…"

Jane connected their eyes. "I'm okay. I did what you wanted."

Lisbon's tear-filled eyes flashed. " _That's_ not what I wanted! I told you to get out of here, not _challenge_ Sturden!"

"I tried to leave, but he caught me by surprise." Jane gestured back to where he knew Sturden's corpse had found its final resting place, relief filling him. "But then I caught him by surprise in the end. I won."

"Is that all that matters? That you _won?"_ she demanded, ire crossing her face. "What about that you're _alive?"_

"No," he answered honestly. "I'm relieved, too. I'm glad I'm still here."

"Good," Lisbon whispered. "I'm glad you're still here, too."

Jane committed the way Lisbon stared down at him to his Memory Palace; he would never forget it.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Lisbon found Jane on the couch just as she had expected, and when she caught sight of him, something inside her shifted back into place. She had been unable to sleep, for when she had closed her eyes, she was consumed by the memory of Jane staggering back, clutching at his throat with blood streaming past his shaking fingers, expression shocked and fearful.

Panic had risen inside her again, and knowing that she wouldn't be able to sleep regardless, she drove back to work, urgency pounding at her. While she had profusely thanked God that Jane hadn't been killed, that He had granted survival, the worry was overwhelming.

"Rough night?"

She jumped at the sound of his voice, eyes darting past the stitches under his chin to his face, to meet his open eyes.

"You could say that," she murmured, nodding hesitantly. "I just…"

"You were worried about me." Jane swung his legs off the end of the couch and she took the offered position. "It's sweet of you."

"Someone has to worry." A flash of bitterness swept through her. "I'm the only one who ever does _._ While you were partying in Vegas with Red John's _whore,_ I was stuck here to pick up the pieces _you_ left. I was sick with worry."

"You're angry."

"Of _course,_ I'm angry," Lisbon snapped, her anger much easier to act on than her other emotions. "Before I went to bed, I got a call from Bertram, who made it clear that those higher than him want you around. Even when you piss everyone off, insult my superiors, nothing can happen to you. Because, jackass-ness aside, you're the best asset we've ever had - and everyone knows it. You've more than proven it since coming back from Vegas; our closure rate has more than doubled all because of you."

"Stroking the ego," Jane mused dryly. "Is a favor what you need?"

" _Yes!_ Don't you get it?" Her voice cracked, and she cursed herself, but she knew he could see right through her. "You could have _died._ And I wouldn't know anything. I'd have known nothing but that stupid mask you have on all the time. I wouldn't know the _truth._ "

"You have a mask, too."

"But I'm willing to take it off right now. I want to. If I don't, I'll always regret it. You _owe_ me - I deserve it. I want honesty. _Specifics._ I'm calling in the debt."

He nodded slowly. "I owe you more than I could ever pay."

"Then be honest with me. _Please._ "

Jane stared at her for several moments before sighing heavily. "Until we're not alone in the building, you can ask me anything and I'll be honest until then."

That was a lot more generous than she had been prepared for, but she eagerly accepted his terms.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, eyes drifting past his face to the wound under his chin.

"Fine. I'll get the stitches out next week. I don't know if I can grow facial hair there anymore. It will leave a scar."

Lisbon closed her eyes, shaking her head. "That's not what I meant. I meant… how are you with what happened? You killed Sturden."

"It was self-defense," he countered, and Lisbon didn't retort how it had looked like revenge, a cold-blooded execution, although such a claim would thankfully never hold up. "He was an inch away from slitting my throat; he had it coming. Really, I did him a favor. He told me he'd rather die than go to prison. I accommodated his request. I should be rewarded."

She rolled her eyes. "Living to tell the tale wasn't enough of a reward?"

"An acknowledgment of my good deed would be nice," Jane mused. "I like the thought of carrying around a medal."

"That's nice."

Jane grinned. "You'll have your crucifix, and I'll have my medal."

"That's even nicer," she muttered, lips thinning; she wanted to be serious. "What abou- … You almost _died._ "

Lisbon realized that, as Jane stared at her, if not for their agreement, he would lie to her. But she never knew when he lied anyway, so what was the point? Was this just her stupid heart at work?

"I realized that… I thought for the longest time that I was ready for death, would accept it." His voice was soft, pensive. "But when I thought it had arrived, I realized that I didn't want it. I rebelled against it. Fought the inevitable."

The utter serenity that permeated through her was beyond description, her words unable to express the sheer relief in her heart.

"I once thought that whatever sacrifices it took to destroy Red John would be worth it."

"Including your life," she whispered.

"Yes. But now, I don't know. Everything's changed. I almost feel enlightened, but yet burdened more than ever. I know what I need to do, and I'm still going to do it, but- "

Lisbon stiffened. "Do _what?_ What do you need to do? I swear if you run again- "

"I'm not running. If I was, you wouldn't have found me here. I'd already be gone."

She relaxed, realizing he was right. "Fine. What do you need to do? It's about Red John, isn't it?"

_Isn't everything?_

"Yes."

"Then what are you going to do about Red John?" she asked warily, already knowing the answer.

"Find him. Kill him."

Lisbon's eyes closed. "Of course, you are."

"You've always known this, Lisbon. Why are you always hurt by my honesty about Red John? I've never lied about my plans for him."

Her eyes opened. "Because your obsession with Red John isn't healthy _at all._ It's disturbing. It _scares_ me. You… you become someone else for him. Even your voice changes; it gets quiet, freezing, demanding. You see things that I can't, look for things that make no sense to anyone but you." Looking at his face, she shook her head in irritation. "You don't _get_ it."

"Don't get what?"

Lisbon's face pinched. "I _hate_ seeing you become that… ice-cold, calculating bastard that he turns you into. You flip a switch; you become emotionless." She took a deep breath, forcing herself to remain honest; the deal went both ways. "It scares me because I'm always afraid that… that you'll stay that way - permanently become someone you're not. You're a good person, but that stranger you become when it comes to Red John isn't. I no longer know you when he enters the picture."

"Good.

Her eyes widened in outraged disbelief. " _Good?"_

"Yes. It's the only way."

"Only way for _what?_ Stop being vague!"

"It's the only way to kill him." Jane's voice lowered slightly, darkened; it became the voice she hated. " _Nothing_ will stop me. My hatred for him burns like a fire; it's in my blood. I have entire wings in my Memory Palace dedicated to him, to the pain I will inflict on him when the time comes. My favorite is wrapping my hands around his neck and squeezing the life out of him."

Lisbon clenched her fists, feeling nauseated; this entire thing had been a mistake. "I think less is more in this case of honesty."

"But if less is more, how much more is more?"

"Smartass."

"Always. Anything else you want from the box, Pandora?"

She glared at him, and while she wanted to just leave and forget this entire conversation, she could never stop with Jane.

_Stupid heart._

"So, you _want_ to become someone else? That's not right. Don't you see it?"

"Of course. That's been the plan."

" _What?"_

"It takes a tiger to kill a tiger. A monster to kill a monster."

Lisbon stared at him, wondering, not for the first time, at his sanity. "I repeat, _what?"_

Jane finally sat up from his position, eyes never leaving hers. "Nietzsche observed that 'he who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster.'"

"That's a _warning!_ And what are you saying? You've been hunting Red John so long that you're turning into him?"

"That's been my intention," he said calmly as if he weren't making her feel utterly terrified for the second time in the past four hours. "That's the only way to destroy Red John. I have to descend into that pit, that _abyss._ I have to think like him, _be_ him."

Lisbon could barely breathe, unable to believe what she was hearing. " _That's_ your plan? Give up your humanity so you can match Red John in monstrosity?"

"I prefer sacrifice," Jane retorted, blasé. "There's a difference."

"I don't _care!_ Because it's insane! No, _inhumane!"_

"You're exaggerating."

"It's still insane!"

"I'm sure Da Vinci's early notes were considered insane, too. Only those of a gifted mind can see that it's not insane."

"I may not be as clever as you, may not have your raw intelligence, but I know a dumbass plan when I hear it!" Lisbon threw her arms up in the air in outrage, but then a thought occurred to her. It made way too much sense, especially with what she knew about Jane. " _Wait._ Is that why you went to Vegas? So you could… descend into that abyss?"

He nodded. "I needed solitude and isolation to achieve it, and I knew he would reach out eventually, always having his disciples watch me."

_Jackass!_

"And vanishing into the wind without a word, what was _that?"_ she demanded, the familiar hurt billowing inside her heart. "Why didn't you contact me? Do you know how many times I called you? Texted you?"

Jane stared at her, eyes penetrating, piercing. "You know why."

Lisbon stubbornly shook her head. " _No._ You're not getting away with that. Not now when you're supposed to be honest with me. I want specifics. _Why_ didn't you- "

"To protect you."

"Only in your insanely complicated mind could doing that somehow protect me. That's not good enough. I want more than that."

"I had to sell the con. If I heartlessly cut out the most important person in my life for such a duration, Red John would know that I was serious. That my actions and descent into the abyss was authentic."

Lisbon inhaled sharply, immediately reminded of his 'forgotten' confession before he 'killed' her.

_Love you._

She swallowed and bypassed it, not sure she wanted to navigate that minefield, even if Jane swore to be honest with her. "It was definitely heartless."

Jane sighed. "I know. And I'm sorry."

"Me, too. Because I thought that I meant more to you than someone you could just forget about at your convenience."

"You misunderstand. I know you had a hard time, but so did I."

"Yeah, _right,_ " she derided, crossing her arms across her chest, the familiar hurt rearing its ugly head. "Gambling and winning probably millions of dollars and sleeping with _whores_ doesn't sound so hard."

Finally, Lisbon saw it - a flash of anger on his sharp-featured face. " _That_ was the hardest thing I've ever done. But I did it because there was a good chance it would work."

" _Bullshit._ That makes no sense, Jane! There was no 'good chance,' and you know it! You don't think straight when it comes to Red John!"

Jane's eyes darkened, a teeming fury therein. "Red John is the embodiment of my powerlessness. I failed to save my family, failed to protect them as a true husband and father should. I failed to stop the threat. You don't understand, but I've reverted to my primal strengths - the ugliest of them, of course - because it's _all_ I can do. It's the only way. I have to descend into the abyss. And being away from you in Vegas was the only way I could do it because you're too good to me and for me; you're too pure. And even if it tainted the good that was left inside, it was worth it. Because I'm closer- "

"You _jackass!"_ she snapped for what was probably the hundredth time in the past week alone. "How are you so smart but so stupid at the same time?"

Jane frowned; grooves were carved into his features. "You don't understand, Lisbon. I have to substitute my own thoughts and instincts for his depraved ones. Because I'm the only one who can do that. The only one who can destroy him. No one else can. Red John _reeks,_ and I have to reek, too, to destroy him."

"How _noble,_ " Lisbon hissed out sarcastically. "There's another way, and you're just not seeing it. You're blinded by Red John."

Silence.

"Maybe," he admitted after several moments, stunning her. She was so thankful she made the deal. "I've been gazing into that abyss for so long, been enveloped by it, that it's been gazing into me, too. It's all I've known for years, and it's become worse in the past year. Especially since Vegas."

"I've noticed."

"That's been my plan, but since Sturden, I don't know." Jane leaned back against the cushions, looking weary. "I've been thinking ever since, unable to sleep, either. Because being that close to death called everything into question; it changes things. I had always thought that I was prepared for death, but that was only a _fiction._ Every time I've thought about it, it was never real, only the power of my imagination, which is always second to reality."

Lisbon swallowed. "Good point."

Jane nodded, looking at her intently. "That's also why you'll never understand how I feel about Red John."

"What?"

"Because you weren't there that night he butchered them, when he took everything that ever mattered." Jane's eyes began to fill with energy; it wasn't good. "You know nothing of it. You can see the crime scene photos, see the other victims, but you don't _know._ All of the conjurations of your mind are _fiction._ Not reality. You don't live in the reality in which I live; you only have a guess."

"You're right," she admitted softly, looking away with guilt. "I'm sorry if I ever gave you the impression that I think I know how you feel. I'd like to, but- "

"You remember the day your mother died, don't you?"

Lisbon's eyes darted to meet him again. "Some of it. Why?"

"I remember _everything._ I've tried to forget that night, but not a single detail will ever be forgotten. And when you remember your mother's death, it's painful."

"Yes."

"But it was accidental; it was chance. It could have happened to anyone."

"What are you saying?"

"What Red John did to my family was anything but an accident or chance." Jane's eyes were mesmerizing and she couldn't look away. "He butchered them to send me a message, to break me, shame me, humiliate me, wound me in ways no one should ever be wounded. It was all intentional, primed for optimal damage and death and pain."

Lisbon inhaled shakily. "He targeted you."

"Yes. And that is now why I target _him._ Why I need to become that tiger, that monster. All so I can destroy him."

She took several moments, trying to gather her chaotic thoughts into something feasible. "I get that, but shouldn't you feel- "

" _Don't_ tell me how I should feel."

"Fine. But I hate some people, too, and I don't feel the need to- "

"You don't know hatred. You have an idea, but that's it."

"Then explain it to me."

"Hate is a constant presence, always there." Jane craned his head back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, at Elvis. "It's more loyal than love, for it never leaves. It acts as a stimulant beyond anything save for adrenaline and lust, but hate can last so much longer; its endurance eclipses them both by a wide margin."

" _No._ Hate fizzles out."

"That's rage. Rage can never last, but hatred does; it's different. Hatred is more intense; it's overwhelming, a flame always casting a burning warmth, giving energy."

"And you hate Red John."

" _Yes._ With every breath I breathe, I'm reminded that Red John still breathes, that his black heart still beats. That it gives life to a monster."

Lisbon shook her head, blowing out a breath. "That's not healthy. That's just poison, Jane. It's _bleak!"_

To her surprise, Jane nodded in agreement, calm. "Yes, it is. And I've lived with that poison for years. It's rooted in my mind; it taints my memories. It's cruel, and it cares for nothing but Red John. But it's _mine._ "

She swallowed, feeling something inside her break at those words. "Can't you see that- "

"The hate's there, and maybe it will always be there. I'm prepared for it. I will live hating Red John, and if I fail, I'll die hating him."

Lisbon controlled her breathing, her emotions. "I'm sorry. I don't know how you bear it. You're okay with it?"

Jane finally looked at her again, eyes piercing. "I'll never have peace until Red John is dead, and I've made peace with _that._ He took everything from me, and I'll take his life as the price. Everything has a cost, Lisbon. Red John's life is the price that must be paid. His debt is due, and I'm his creditor and collector. I will doom him, hurt him, _break_ him, and then give him the death that I am owed. Until you hold your dead family in your arms, the only ones who ever mattered or cared about you, for your arrogance killed them, you _won't_ know."

What scared her the most is that she felt the beginnings of understanding finally worming through her consciousness; she could see it. While Jane was right about all the conjurations in her mind being fiction instead of reality, she realized that, truly, she didn't know what her reaction would be, how she would feel if Red John had taken her world from her. Already, she feared her reaction if Red John killed Jane, but to murder her child?

It was sobering.

"Red John _did_ open my eyes," he continued bitterly. "I see how terrible people are. Men kill each other over the pettiest reasoning. We aren't peaceful beings; we're filled with as much terror and murderous impulses as reason and control."

"We live in a fallen world," Lisbon murmured. "We're flawed beings."

"And Red John is more flawed than anyone; he fostered his destruction when he targeted me. And I'll be the death of him."

"What if he's the death of you?"

"I used to think it'd be fine that way, but now, I can't answer that. He's been such a big part of my life. It's hard to imagine my life without him in it. Everything he's done has affected me, changed me. I met _you_ because of Red John, and I can't imagine my life without you in it. You're too important to me. I care for you too much."

Lisbon barely breathed. "You're important to me, too."

_Love you._

"Exactly." Jane stared at her and she was further catapulted back to that 'forgotten' confession, for the look in his eyes was the exact same, but then it cleared, replaced by joviality. "Who else would offer you such intellectual stimulation? Who else would solve all of your cases for you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Now I take back every nice thing I've ever said about you."

"You say nice things about me? I'm touched."

"Not anymore."

"How soon until you take back your take-back?"

"I'd give it a few hours."

Jane smiled. "I think minutes is more apt."

Despite herself, she smiled back. "Probably."

"I really am sorry about Vegas," he murmured, holding her gaze; her smile fell from her face. "I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry."

"Would you do it again?"

Jane paused for several moments before speaking, words spaced. "I don't know. It wasn't easy for me, for as time passed, and while everyone I encountered was going on with their lives, I was stuck there and alone while- "

"Whose fault was that?"

"- suspended in time, waiting for my opportunity. Waiting for him."

Lisbon controlled her breathing. "You got Lorelei."

To her shock, scorn crossed his face. "She's been no help, and now I can't talk to her because she's gone. I don't think she was ever going to help me."

" _Really?_ But you seemed so sure- "

"I was desperate, not sure," he corrected, sounding like the fight had left him; he looked bone-weary, and the sight hurt her. "She says she knows who he is, but she's lying. I think she knows Red John's mask, not his face. She was conning me as I conned her. It's payback."

"I'm sorry," Lisbon said softly. "I know you thought you had a lead."

"I still do. Lorelei is the lead. She has information, and I will extract it from her in whatever ways necessary."

That sounded way too ominous for her. "Whatever ways?"

"She's good, but I'm better. Every blink of her eye, every tic in her face, every infinitesimal reaction tells me something. She's providing answers she's unaware of every time we're in the same room. If necessary, I can use her to get to Red John. She was important to him, a valuable disciple. He may wish to rescue her."

Lisbon didn't say anything for several moments, digesting that news. "Well, good. I hate what you did, how you just… abandoned me- the _team,_ but you did get a lead into Red John that we've never had before."

Jane stared at her. "Are we okay?"

She fisted her hand against her thigh. "Yeah. You're the biggest jackass I've ever met, but I want you around for some reason."

_Love you._

He smiled. "I solve your cases for you single-handedly."

"That's not it," Lisbon countered, trying to gather her courage; she took in a deep breath, going for it. Jane had almost died, and she needed to know. "I think it has to do with that thing you forgot about."

Jane stilled before his eyes darted away from her. "I hear someone coming."

Lisbon rolled her eyes, anger simmering in her mind. " _Liar._ There's no one coming, and you're not getting out of this. We've been putting it off for too long. It's been gnawing at me. I want the truth."

"It doesn't matter," he dismissed, crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes.

"It matters to _me,_ Jane." Lisbon grabbed at his crossed arms and yanked hard, causing his lids to spring open to stare at her. "You told me you _loved_ me and then claimed to not know what I was talking about. We both know that's bullshit; you remember everything."

She wasn't sure if the panic she saw in his eyes was authentic or a figment of her imagination. "It was an accident. A slip of the tongue."

Lisbon paused, narrowing her eyes, considering. No one could play with words like Jane, so she had to take that into account. "Was it an accident because you were playing me, or because… you never wanted me to know the truth? And what is the truth?"

Jane stared at her, resolute. "It doesn't matter if it's true."

"Like I said, it matters to _me._ "

"And it would matter to Red John!" he snapped, voice rising, and she jumped slightly, unprepared for such raw, bleeding intensity in his words. "He's already taken an interest in you. He wanted your _head._ If he knew the truth, he'd take you from me just like he took them. All to punish me for my arrogance."

Lisbon's eyebrows furrowed, not understanding that line of thought. " _Arrogance?_ Red John's a monster, but he- "

"My arrogance for daring to move on from the hand he dealt me, from the pain and torture he inflicted on me." Jane's eyes were on fire and Lisbon couldn't look away. "He would punish me for replacing him as the 'object of my affections.' Psychologically, he could never accept being replaced. He loves that I think about him, that entire wings in my Memory Palace are dedicated to him. If any of that was undermined, if your presence in my life became even more important than it has been, he would lash out."

She swallowed, eyes falling to her hands, for when putting it that way, it sounded exactly like something Red John would do. For some reason, the monster was fascinated with Jane, saw him as an equal in a way, a brother of both the soul and intellectual mind, a worthy foe and challenger. In a perverted outlook, he was like a jealous lover; he wanted all of Jane's attention and efforts.

"I see," Lisbon whispered, mind racing. "He'd be jealous."

" _Yes._ " Jane's eyes found hers again; the truth was vivid in them. "He would target you to take you away from me. Maybe what I said is true, maybe I meant it more than anything I've said in years, but it can never happen until he's gone. That possibility is unattainable as long as his heart still beats."

Lisbon nodded, feeling both relief and distress at those words. At least he had admitted, in a convoluted fashion, that he loved her, but nothing would ever happen until his foe was in a hole in the ground. It was depressing. "What if Red John proves to be like a cockroach?"

Jane's eyes crackled with promise, and his hand reached toward hers; she accepted it. "Red John will _die;_ his days are numbered."

Silence.

"I know I can't change your mind," she finally whispered, "but promise me something."

"What?"

"That you'll _live._ That you'll come out the other side." Lisbon squeezed his hand tightly, voice shaking; her eyes grew wet. "I can't watch you die. I _can't._ Promise me that when all of this is over, you'll live again. And… love again."

Jane's face softened. "That's the plan. Red John's death will _renew_ my life. I will live again. And love again. I will feel peace."

"You're not lying to me?"

"No."

While she knew he could very well be lying since he was the best liar she had ever seen or heard of, the relief in her heart was freeing; she believed him. " _Good._ And try to make his death look like self-defense."

"I've long imagined the torture and pain I wish to inflict on him, but now, I don't care how I kill him. I just want him dead, and I don't care what it takes. I can do self-defense."

"That's progress, I guess," Lisbon observed.

"Progress," Jane mused, voice soft. "I've reached the point where I can't imagine how my life would be now if my family were here, if Red John hadn't murdered them. It's been too long."

Lisbon felt her heart hurt at that. "I'm sorry."

"I only have my memories," he continued, voice carrying oddly. "Sometimes it's enough, but sometimes it isn't. It's been years, but I thought I'd have killed him by now. I never thought I'd live this long."

"We're going to find him, Jane," she swore for what felt like the thousandth time, but like always, she meant it. "And I'm going to make sure you keep living longer than you ever thought."

Jane stared at her, and she didn't know what it was, but something seemed to shift inside his eyes. "I believe you."

XxXxXxXxXxX

**That's it. I hope that you all enjoyed it.**

_**Stay Safe  
** _ **ButtonPusher**


	2. Chapter 2

**Takes place during the final confrontation with Red John in the church - with some twists.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own** _**The Mentalist** _ **or any of the characters therein.**

XxXxXxXxXxX

"Now you look at me with hatred," McAlister observed, tone latent with the depraved impulses that had always been there. And he had been too blind to see it.

Jane hated himself all the more for never recognizing it. Everything was so much clearer now. He could see all of it, see how the man before him unleashed death on his family. And now, the price would be paid. In turn, Jane would unleash death on McAlister, do what he had sworn to do a decade ago.

This was how it was always going to end.

"In the instances we've met, all I ever saw was your façade," McAlister continued, and Jane remained quiet, stewing in his hatred, letting it fill him. It was never more potent, buzzing against his senses, his very sanity, but there would be no loss of control. Perhaps McAlister was counting on him losing control, but he never would. For hatred is cold, where rage is explosive. Hatred is reliable, where rage is unpredictable.

Jane did not feel enraged, he never had - he felt hateful.

"To see what I inspire in you, the depths of your hatred, it makes it all worthwhile."

"And I saw your façade," he replied, keeping their gazes locked - cold eyes versus cold eyes. "You're a good actor."

McAlister's face stretched into a smile, and Jane wished harm on himself, wondering how he had never seen how unnatural a smile looked on McAlister's face. "Not even you could see how good I am. Does it pain you? That you shook my hand?"

"I never saw that you were an actor because all my memories of you had been tainted," Jane corrected. "When I looked back, remembered our encounters, I could never see clearly because the founding memories were already insignificant. I had never really looked at you, never delved deep as I should have. The memories were flawed. Remembering our encounters never helped, for all I could remember was how I never paid attention to you - until it was too late."

"Answer my question, Patrick. Does it pain you?"

"More than you know."

McAlister's gaze drifted to Bertram's dead body, but the gun remained rooted on him. "But I do know. It kept you awake at night. It was all you could think about. I know."

"You know nothing more than your delusions of grandeur."

"As opposed to _you?"_ McAlister murmured lowly, darkness filling his glacial orbs. "You are _nothing_ more than an amusing pet. You have been my entertainment, my joy for these past years, but despite all your strivings, your cleverness, your plans, you have never wounded me, never clawed me. You haven't even pissed on me."

"I exposed the Blake Association."

"Do not mistake exposing for destroying." McAlister's gun was waved towards Bertram's corpse. "These thousands of sheep of mine are just that; they are expendable. My empire won't fall. I have seen to it."

Jane didn't react, but for the first time since entering the church, thoughts of Lisbon drifted through his mind. The C.B.I. was dead, but would Abbot and the F.B.I. be efficient enough to destroy the Black Association?

No. The F.B.I. had undoubtedly been infiltrated by McAlister's lackeys. The only person he would trust was himself and the team, Lisbon specifically, to destroy the Blake Association. Perhaps he wouldn't be free from the ghost of Red John once he killed McAlister. There would be more work to be done.

If Abbot was wise, Lisbon would remain by his side as he hunted down the Blake Association; he would destroy Red John's legacy, rain down fire if that's what it would take.

He would do anything necessary to see it become reality - and Lisbon would be by his side.

"I know what you're thinking," McAlister said, spacing his words. "Or, of whom you're thinking - Teresa."

A small surge of panic flitted through him, but it was only inward; he showed nothing. He forced away thoughts of Lisbon, for the mere thought of her was enough to wane his control, to weaken him, to humanize him.

Only monsters survive. And right now, he had to be a monster. Lisbon's presence, even memories and thoughts of her, repelled the monster - and he couldn't have that. Not now. Not when he was so close. Not when everything about which he had fantasized for years was finally within his grasp.

McAlister's cold, dark eyes glimmered. "That is something I've always admired about you, Patrick - your restraint. You restrained yourself against her, against the emotions she inspires inside you. I could have killed her long ago, but that would have ruined our game. She was the piece I could always use against you. Take that piece away, I lose that. So, I granted her life, left her in _your_ life when it would have been easy not to."

Jane nodded, rejecting the terrible memories of that horrifying reality when he thought Lisbon had been killed after that phone call. "You know restraint, as well. Surprising."

"But I know how to let go, to embrace what I feel, something I have tried to share with you. I have wanted you to cast aside your restraint. Not for Teresa. For something far more precious. And you did. For one moment, you let go."

Jane understood. "Carter."

"He was a test, one you passed with flying colors. You loosened your restraint; you proved you had what it took, that you could do it. Until then, I had been unsure."

The scar under his chin bristled, flaring in remembered pain and panic. "I killed Hardy and Sturden."

"Neither were murder, Patrick. Hardy was to save the life of Teresa. Sturden was after Carter, and it was to save your own life after he marked you. But Carter?" An expression of something almost resembling appreciation crossed McAlister's face. "That was murder, cold-blooded slaughter. It felt good, didn't it? It raised your pulse; you felt _alive._ "

"You know all about slaughter."

"I do. But you do, too. I gave you that."

Jane contorted his face with disgust. "Is that what you want? You want me to exalt before you? Extol your generosity- "

McAlister's grip on the gun became tighter. " _Yes._ Look at what I've made you. You are grander now than you've ever been, Patrick. Because _I_ gave you that."

"By taking everything from me."

"I gave you truth. You no longer view the world through a filter; you see it as it truly is. I gave you _strength._ "

Jane's fingers twitched, the only reaction he allowed himself. "The truth you gave me is that you are nothing more than a sadist. A depraved- "

The grip on the gun tightened. "Despite my generosity, despite my mercy and kindness, you are still the same arrogant man- "

"I'm not."

McAlister's face twisted, eyes flashing with malevolence. " _Yes,_ you are! The only difference is the point it's derived from. Before, it was your vanity and ego. Now, it's your shame and insecurities, your self-loathing and rage. Your arrogance is why your wife and brat are dead. And you haven't learned."

Jane didn't react, but a truth that he had realized through Lisbon's help was his retort. "I'm guilty, but you're to blame. They're dead because of you. Because you're thin-skinned, _sensitive._ Because you're weak."

" _Weak?"_ McAlister hissed out, all remnants of morality and sanity fading from view; the constructed façade of composure had evaporated, revealing the malignity that was his true face.

 _There it is,_ he observed. _This is Red John._

"Yes. There's nothing unique about you," Jane said, his voice beginning to darken; not even he could control it. "You're just like every other serial killer. You're an unapologetic weak man who overcompensates by- "

"Thousands follow my guidance, and countless are dead by my hands," Red John snapped, his grip on the gun bruising. "My word is life and _death_. I watched the light leave your wife and brat's eyes, Patrick, and I will watch the light leave yours. After I kill you, I will watch Teresa's light leave, too. All because of your arrogance, because you don't learn. You don't heed my lessons."

Jane continued to stare at him, memorizing the monster that had stolen his family from him. "I thought you were above such clichés. But I'm not surprised. _You_ are a cliché. Was it your mother, Thomas? Did she abuse you?"

Red John's eyes bulged from their sockets, a mass of depraved and psychopathic fury. "Pay attention! These are your last moments in this world. I will not have them be ruined by your- "

"I thought you would keep me alive," Jane interrupted, analyzing the situation. It was only a little longer until he could act. "You would kill me last, so I could look at the slaughtered Lisbon and despair. Then you would kill me, dominating me for the final time. Then you would win."

"I've already _won,_ " Red John hissed out, cold orbs burning with intensity; Jane knew the same was reflected in his own eyes. "The gun you taped to the bottom of the pew, it's gone. Did you really think you could fool me? That I wouldn't look for a trap?"

Jane didn't react, but inwardly, he began to formulate a new plan; he wouldn't become distracted. He couldn't afford it.

Red John continued, hands beginning to shake. "The _arrogance._ You are now at my mercy - the sheep sacrificed to the tiger. You will die with the knowledge that there is nothing you can do to stop Teresa's death. Same with Agents Cho, Risby, and Van Pelt. There is no more fitting of an end for you than this." Red John gestured towards Bertram's corpse. "You think you're so clever, but everyone believes that Bertram is Red John. When you're both found dead here, they will turn a blind eye to me. Because I'm already dead. And then I will kill them."

"Then what are you waiting for?" he challenged, having concocted a new plan. It was risky, but it was all he could do.

He remained patient.

The mask of McAlister returned, and Red John was nowhere to be seen. "When I realized our final encounter was coming, I thought it would be grand. I've wanted nothing more. Nothing has raised my pulse like the thought of this moment. But now, being here, I'm disappointed. I wanted _more._ "

Jane felt the breadcrumbs in his pocket, knowing the moment to strike was imminent. "Imagination is always second to reality. I've waited for this retribution- "

"This was never retribution for your wife and brat. It was retribution for _you_ \- to wash away your guilt and shame. This has never been about them. It's always been about you."

"I failed," he acknowledged, memories pounding at his consciousness, but he fended them off. He couldn't be cast into torpor; he had to be in control. "But I'm not failing again."

McAlister chuckled darkly, grip on the gun still tight as he walked closer, mere feet now between them as they stood in the aisle. "What do you call _this_ , Patrick? You are at my mercy, without the weapon you planted; the only reason you are still alive is my enjoyment of these moments, despite it lacking the grandeur I wanted. I am saving your life right now by not pulling the trigger - which makes it _mine._ It's always been mine."

"Yours has always been mine. You'll know how they felt."

"The _arrogance_ ," McAlister derided, face twisting again. "The novelty of this last encounter has finally worn off. I won't feel what they did, _you_ will. They'll find your body here with two bullets - each for your wife and brat. Then, in the next days, they'll find the bodies of Agents Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt." McAlister's neck craned forward, malevolent eyes boring into his soul. "This is my promise to you, Patrick - Teresa's death will be my creative masterpiece. Your arrogance condemned her to it - just like your family."

Jane smiled, the hatred stifling his senses, including his balance, but he maintained control. He wouldn't falter now. "She has an army of agents in the F.B.I. who won't let that happen."

"Your faith in the F.B.I. is misplaced," McAlister assured, and Jane was grateful that the gambit paid off; he had needed the confirmation to be sure. All he had to do was survive the encounter, and then he could get to work on destroying the Blake Association, which had clearly infiltrated the F.B.I, as well. Based on the depraved glee glowing in McAlister's glacial orbs, their encounter would end in an explosive crescendo. "Teresa has no protection. Her end is near, and she will follow you into death. This is the final lesson I impart onto you, Patrick."

"Which is?"

"There's always someone smarter - _me._ "

Jane gripped a fist full of the breadcrumbs in his pocket. "Can I show you something before you kill me? It's my last request. My last rites, you could say. We are in a church, after all."

McAlister's eyes flickered, annoyance therein, but he nodded, stepping closer, gun aimed to kill. "Why not?"

Pulling out the breadcrumbs, Jane opened his fist, watching bemusement cross flesh, the grip on the gun relaxing slightly, tilted away from him. Images flashed through his mind, memories of how Cho and Rigsby dealt with criminals, and it was the moment of truth.

With a surge of movement, he abruptly threw the breadcrumbs into McAlister's face, who staggered back, surprised; simultaneously, with his other arm, he lashed out, batting the arm holding the gun away, and in one smooth motion, began to viciously, rapidly chop at the hand, causing the gun to fall out of stricken fingers.

A powerful, sturdy fist connected with his side, almost into his kidney, but Jane kept fighting on, adrenaline and hatred strengthening him. With full force, he ducked his body and slammed his right-shoulder into McAlister, catapulting them across the aisle and into the pews. They somersaulted over the raised wood, bodies colliding harshly into each other and the wood until they crashed to the floor.

He couldn't see the gun.

McAlister was older, slower, but he was also more accustomed to combat. Experience and enthusiasm were on his side, but Jane would win. Death was inevitable in the next moments, but it wouldn't be coming for him. No. Because for the longest time, he had been prepared to die with Red John, but now, he wanted to live. He had a future now, one he wanted more than his words could express. That was on his side, along with speed and possibly strength, but he wouldn't count on the strength. What he could count on was McAlister's arrogance, which would be his downfall; he expected control, the restraint Jane was known for. He didn't expect him to fight to live, to physically challenge him.

"I didn't think you had it in you, Patrick," Red John hissed out, the mask of McAlister melting away as he stood to his feet; there would be no façade any longer. " _This_ is the grandeur I wanted."

Jane didn't respond, choosing to reach into his other pocket to grab hold of the pigeon. With an almost smile, he threw it at Red John, who cried out in alarm, flailing back, tripping over the pew, disappearing from view as the pigeon flapped its wings, squawks of protest filling the air.

It bought Jane precious seconds to search for the gun. Within moments he found it; he dove across the floor, sliding on his stomach for increased speed until his fingers wrapped around the cool, reassuring metal.

Red John's pounding footsteps reached his ears, and Jane reacted on instinct, rolling to the side, avoiding a powerful foot slamming down to crush his throat, the sound clapping like thunder next to him. But Red John wasn't deterred, continuing his assault. On his knees, Jane generated enough force to propel himself back to avoid Red John's swinging, surging fists, and with fire and lightning thrashing and churning in his heart, he raised the gun and fired.

The gunshot exploded in the air, the sound ear-shattering, and Jane stared at the frozen Red John, whose hands were no longer fists; they clutched at his stomach, blood seeping between them, dripping to the floor with the force of deafening bombs.

A defiant roar tore out of Red John's snarling lips, and as he tried to flee, Jane fired again, causing him to collapse past the pew.

All that was heard were Red John's hisses of pain, the groans of protest.

"Only monsters survive," he called out, still in his position, hunched onto his knees behind the pew, anticipation surging through his mind, almost overriding his senses. But he could hear Red John trying to crawl away; there would be no escape from inevitable death. "You're not sorry, and I'm not either. It takes a monster to kill a monster, and you taught me how to be one. I eclipsed you. I _win_."

Jane's grip on the pistol tightened, and he sprang over the pew, pulling the trigger with resolute accuracy. The force of the bullet erupting out of the gun reverberated through his body like roaring thunder, and he watched, mesmerized as Red John's head snapped back, throat exploding in a gushing, torrential shower of blood, staining his sputtering, gasping chest with an imperfect river leading down to his black heart.

Breathlessly, his chest heaving, his own heart emitting so many undecipherable emotions, Jane stood frozen, bearing witness to the gruesome image before him.

Red John's features were twisted with hatred, but more importantly, his bulging, panic-stricken glass orbs found his, and something aligned in Jane's heart, seeing the utter terror now plaguing the eyes of what had always been a weak man.

Jane's cold eyes watched in satisfaction, body taut, rigid, the monster triumphantly roaring in his heart as death overtook his family's murderer.

He had done it - Red John was dead.

The door of the church suddenly burst open, and upon seeing that it was Detective Cordero - _the third bullet had alerted him that something was wrong!_ \- with his weapon leveled at him, primitive instincts took over.

Jane immediately dove to the floor, landing harshly as three bullets whizzed over him and impacted into the pew above him, splinters exploding into the air. He responded immediately, having a vantage point of Cordero's legs under the pews, his aim perfect.

He fired, and one of the shins was blown apart. Cordero fell to the ground, crying out in pain, hands instinctively freeing themselves of potential weapons to hysterically try to fix what was unfixable.

Jane jumped to his feet and vaulted over the next pew, rushing forward, not giving Cordero the chance to regain his reason, his senses, and try to return the maiming. Within a second, he had another clear vantage of Cordero's fallen form, and he fired the gun again.

Cordero's body snapped back with the force of the two bullets tearing through his chest, the detective's burning eyes reviling death as it consumed him.

The door behind him opened, and Jane whirled around, prepared for more death, but he paused at the sight of the hysterical, horrified woman.

The gun lowered in his hand, and he held out his other hand, trying to ward her off. "You need to leave," he called out. "Forget you saw this. It's not safe for you here."

When the woman continued to approach, eyes filled with tears, bypassing Red John's corpse, Jane inherently knew that she was part of the Blake Association. His grip on the gun tightened, but he didn't raise it, unsure if he could even kill the woman. And, more importantly, the gun was empty, out of bullets.

Her loyalties were confirmed when she lunged at him, hands outstretched towards his face like talons, but Jane had been prepared. He jumped back, and in one smooth motion, smashed the butt of the pistol against her temple.

She bonelessly crumbled to the ground, body folding in on itself like clothes, unconscious.

Jane waited for several moments, prepared for more Blake Association members, but none came.

Piercing silence was all that remained.

Something primal rose inside him, a primitive sense of triumph, of victory. He felt like an ancient warrior fulfilling his quest, the destiny laid out before him. He had fought the battle and won. Despite all odds, he had murdered his family's murderer.

Eventually, the monster in his heart retreated, leaving a sense of freedom that he had only dreamed of; if he looked at his face, he knew what he would see - the face of a man for whom a decade's burden he hated had been removed.

But in that void, a weariness that he had never felt before replaced it. It was the culmination of a decade's worth of sleepless nights returned to haunt him.

In his sheer exhaustion, the mental barriers were broken, and thoughts of Lisbon returned, and inherently, he knew they would never leave again. He wouldn't let them; he had no reason to shut her out of his mind now.

All of a sudden, he needed to hear her voice, to share his triumph with her, to let her know that he was alright, that everything would be alright, that things between them would be alright.

He pulled out his phone, breathing heavily, and dialed the number; he placed it to his ear, feeling so bone-weary that he could barely stand, his body protesting, burning with the physical strain he had placed it under.

But Lisbon didn't answer her phone, and just like that, his decision to flee the country vanished from his mind. He couldn't leave, not now, not when the threat of Red John's associates was still looming large and within the F.B.I. - and Lisbon would surely be targeted. It might be for the best, actually, for Abbot would never expect that he'd stay. Everything he knew about him would tell them that he would try to flee the country.

Abbot would never expect him right under their noses as he figured out what to do next.

Decision made, Jane walked back to Red John's corpse, committing the expired, bloodless face to his Memory Palace; he wiped his prints off of the gun and reached down to place the gun in Red John's lifeless hands, hands that would never unleash death again. Then he carefully searched the body, avoiding the blood.

 _Even someone of your intelligence must have kept a record for an empire of thousands because even the clearest of memories can be unreliable. I know. You must have something; you'd trust no one but yourself to carry them._ _There!_

Jane quickly obtained what he was looking for - a phone and pocket-sized notebook, thankfully free of the bloodshed. Briefly sifting through the notebook, he found what were clearly names and lists written in codes. Cracking the code for the notebook and password for the phone would take time, but he would have time.

It was enough. It would help him destroy the Blake Association.

All he knew was that he had to leave. And he knew his destination.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Having been released by the F.B.I., her career torn asunder, Lisbon supposed that she should feel devastated, and while she did, it was nothing compared to the relief that Jane was still alive. She had heard from Abbot that Jane had clearly killed Thomas McAlister - _he had been Red John, not Bertram!_ \- and Detective Cordero was dead, along with Bertram, while an unconscious woman in the Blake Association was found at the scene, who was swiftly taken into custody.

Jane was nowhere to be seen, which meant that he was alive, and as Abbot said, fleeing from the country.

Had he known that McAlister was Red John? Had he figured it out beforehand? Their meeting at the zoo seemed to certify that he had known, but at least now he was free. The relief faded, devastation swallowing it.

That was what she wanted, wasn't it? For him to be free from Red John? From the tragedy of his past? She had wanted him to live, and he was. That was good, right? Even if she felt like she could barely breathe when she realized that she'd never see him again, it only mattered that he was alive.

Right?

Lisbon screwed her eyes shut, her chaotic emotions potent. While she was so relieved that he was alive, she was equally devastated that he was on the run, vanishing from her life once again. She was also angry with him, she could admit, and disappointed in herself.

His stunt on the beach was something she should have seen coming.

After all, she had gotten good at reading Jane, which had given her false confidence in herself, in her ability to keep up with him. And it had bitten her in the ass. Because he could suddenly flip that switch, fooling her because he was such an amazing actor, and then even worse, he would become so infallible, aloof beyond anything she had ever seen - and she had seen a lot of men who could kill without blinking.

The fact that Jane could be that way terrified her, for the bastard that Red John turned him into, that wasn't Jane; that stranger who stole his face scared her. That stranger was full of hatred and vengeance. While the man who stole her car and left her on the beach wasn't that stranger, he was still whispering in Jane's ear, seducing him with false promises of vengeance.

Lisbon hated that stranger.

Truly thinking about it, as she sat in her car outside her apartment, staring at everything and nothing at once, her mind became aware of several truths that she had never wanted to contemplate. But now that Jane was gone, never to be seen again, they came anyway.

Maybe she could understand why Lorelei had said that Red John and Jane were similar, maybe she could understand it more than she ever wanted to admit, for she had seen it before her very eyes. They were rivals, but in a way, they were twisted, depraved brothers - and there was nothing she hated more than that fact. Because as obsessed as Jane was Red John, Red John was equally obsessed with Jane.

And it was made all the worse because Jane knew it; he recognized what was happening and didn't care! He willingly surrendered himself to that abyss, as he called it, thinking that only another monster could destroy Red John. And he was willing to sacrifice himself, sacrifice any future that he could have, any future that they could have, if it meant that Red John dies.

Lisbon's fists clenched on her steering wheel, reminding herself that Red John was dead now and Jane was still alive - but did it matter when her life was in shambles, and more distressingly, Jane had vanished into the wind again like Vegas?

Ultimately, she had lost him.

It had been her worst fear, the day she had dreaded for so long. Foolishly, she had thought that she could stop him, make him see it her way, that her way was better, that it was the only way he could have a future after Red John. But Jane had rejected it, so consumed by his vengeance that he had never cared.

Sure, she knew he loved her, but what did that mean in the face of his refusal to think about her, to potentially give them a shot?

Maybe she was being unfair - she probably was - but everything she had wanted could have been hers. She could have had him, but Red John took that from her. And that was all Red John did - he took and took and took until there was nothing left except bitterness and a feeling that could only be described as raw.

Is that what Jane had felt all the time? The rawness? The bitter emotions clawing at her sanity? If it was, she didn't know how he dealt with it; she hated it, couldn't bear to surrender herself to the feelings.

And that was a difference between them; while they held a lot of the same values, she would never embrace the darkest of her emotions. She had come close with Volker - _oh, she had come close!_ \- but she had managed to hold on, hating how she felt during those times, always thinking about that murdering son of a bitch.

But Jane? For all his rationality and sheer brilliance, he allowed himself to be swept away by emotions.

Lisbon swallowed, shaking her head; she was being unfair. She was casting judgment on a situation that she couldn't even imagine, as Jane had rightly observed that night last year when they had actually been honest with one another, but right now, she was raw, out of tears to cry, and all she wanted was to escape this horrible reality where she would never see Jane again. While her dreams would surely torment her, it was nothing compared to right now.

Why did things have to end this way? While she had profusely thanked God that Jane had survived the final confrontation with Red John, had managed it despite all odds, she couldn't help but wish things had been different. That Jane didn't have to kill Red John.

Yet, with the existence of the Blake Association coming to light, it had become clear that the only way to be free of Red John was to kill him. No court would ever try him, not when he had friends everywhere who were part of the Blake Association - _the son of a bitch!_

Lisbon inhaled roughly, calming herself, but she knew it wouldn't last long. All she knew for certain was that Jane was gone like Vegas, she would more than likely never see him again, the C.B.I. was dismantled, her career and the careers of her team were all over, she may be facing time in prison because of her decision to give Jane her gun, and Jane was gone.

Feeling herself at the edge of her sanity, hitting her limit for how much she could deal with, she exited her car and hiked towards her apartment, her perception of time disoriented, for all of a sudden, she was at her door.

Mechanically, she put the key into the door and went inside her apartment.

Silence greeted her, and it didn't help the torturous feelings inside her; if anything, the silence amplified them.

Lisbon passed her kitchen, blinking rapidly to keep the fresh tears at bay, and she felt a fog descend over her. Everything was a blizzard, a tempest of freezing particles smashing against her mind and heart, depriving her of whatever strength she had.

She desperately gripped her crucifix for strength, for she herself couldn't generate the strength; she prayed for a miracle of some kind, for something good to happen that would let a semblance of normalcy return to her life, that Jane could somehow come back, and that things could just be okay.

Opening her wet eyes, Lisbon achingly trudged towards her bedroom in the hopes of slumber freeing her mind from the horrible, nightmarish reality in which she now lived, but she froze when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw an object on her couch. Whirling towards it, assuming the worst, like a bomb left by the Blake Association or something that was just as deadly, she froze, feeling reality crash around her, for it wasn't an object.

It was a thing, a form, a body - _Jane!_

She could only blink, so stunned by the impossible sight in front of her. Jane was asleep on her couch, body shifted on its side, his back to her. Jane was in her apartment, not somewhere else. Jane hadn't run away.

Immediately, the fog lifted, the freezing cold burned away by the radiant brilliance of Jane's presence. She could breathe easier, and something shifted inside her, something that she had permanently thought to be broken mending all in the span of a single second - because Jane was asleep on her couch.

_He's here._

Lisbon's eyes watered, and she rushed towards her couch, her awe growing as Jane remained where he was as she got closer; he wasn't an apparition conjured by her overwhelming yearning to see him.

_He's real._

She fell on her knees before his slumbering body, staring at the rise and fall of his breath, watching him in a way she had never before dared. He was stretched out along her couch, back to her, shoulders slightly hunched inward, chin bowed into his chest.

With shaking fingers, she reached out to grip his arm - _it was real!_ \- and shook it a little, feeling her voice shake in rhythm with his arm. "Jane."

He didn't stir.

Lisbon wasn't sure she had ever seen him sleep so deeply before; usually, he magically awoke when he knew someone was looking at him or when someone called his name. Or if she kicked the couch - but there was no way in hell she was doing that, not now when… he had fulfilled what she had thought was certainly unfulfillable.

_He's here._

She swallowed, and with more insistence, shook his arm; her voice became steady. "Jane. _Patrick._ "

The stuttering of his breath alerted her that she had pierced through what she hoped were now-peaceful dreams since Red John was dead. She felt him tense beneath her hand after several seconds, and she quickly removed it, watching with bated breath as his body achingly moved to face her.

A brilliant smile was on his face, one she had never seen before; his eyes possessed a lucidness that she hadn't realized had always been missing. "Hey, Lisbon."

Overcome with emotion, Lisbon dove towards him, crashing into his firm body, wrapping her arms around him in the fiercest hug she had ever given, squeezing tightly, unable to stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks. She couldn't remember a time when she had felt so relieved except for when Jane had survived death from drowning.

Jane winced and groaned, and she immediately pulled back, concerned, on the verge of feeling panicked. "Are you hurt?"

"Define hurt."

She looked him over but saw no obvious wounds; there wasn't even blood, so she made a guess, "Broken bones?"

"Bruises," he corrected. "Harsh ones. I haven't physically exerted myself like that in… ever. But this couch hasn't made them worse; it's surprisingly comfortable. I had no idea you were a couch connoisseur, Lisbon."

Her relief overwhelmed her concern. "Good. And I'm not a couch connoisseur. I'm only a connoisseur in dealing with your antics."

Jane's eyes gazed at her, and she had no idea what they were looking for. "I hope you weren't disappointed to see me."

An incredulous laugh escaped her. "You've never been more welcome," she whispered, the tears finally slowing down. "Your mother wasn't as glad to see you when you were born as I am right now."

"Probably right, since she didn't want me."

" _What?"_

Jane waved her off. "Think nothing of it. There are bigger things to worry about."

She blinked. "Like what?"

"The Blake Association," he answered, eyes serious, but she was so relieved that the darkness Red John inspired in him was nowhere to be seen. "They're a threat." Jane reached into his suit, and she frowned at the phone and pocket-sized notebook in his hands. "These were McAlister's. They'll help; he was carrying them with him. And _I_ was the arrogant one."

Lisbon spoke quickly, not liking the glaze beginning to overtake his eyes with the talk of Red John. "What are we going to do?"

"We're going to destroy the Blake Association, not just expose it. We're going all the way."

She sighed. "I know it's impossible for you to forget, but we're out of jobs. The C.B.I.'s gone. You'll have to let Abbot and the F.B.I. deal with it."

Jane shook his head. "Not happening. I don't trust any of them. McAlister confirmed that the F.B.I.'s been infiltrated by Blake members."

"Then what are you going to do? You're wanted for murder."

A triumphant gleam shone in his eyes. "I'll find dirt on Abbot."

"What if he's Blake Association?"

"Then he'd be a better actor than McAlister, and he's not. I'm going to get dirt on him."

Lisbon frowned, knowing one of his notorious plans was probably already in-motion. "How?"

"Visualize."

" _What?"_

Jane didn't seem to think his strategy strange, but then again, he never did. "Stiles is dead, and his successor will owe me. I can work either angle."

Lisbon stared at him. "Again, _what?"_

"I can say I killed Red John to avenge Stiles' death, along with my family's, or I can say that I let Red John kill Stiles, opening the door for whoever will succeed him. Either will work. The successor will feel beholden to me. He'll be begging to help."

"Probably Brother Jason."

"Most likely."

She was quiet for several moments, trying to think; it was hard because her joy at having him still in her life was so dominant. "What if Brother Jason's part of the Blake Association? Visualize was connected to Red John."

Jane shrugged. "I'll deal with that when I get to it. It's possible, but Brother Jason doesn't strike me as one of them."

"You've been fooled before," she pointed out softly. "You didn't see… McAlister's true face."

"I saw it," he murmured, eyes glazing over. She felt panic sweep through her, but then his eyes cleared. "Stiles wasn't part of the Blake Association, Lisbon; it's _highly_ unlikely Brother Jason would be if Stiles wasn't. Stiles was many things, but a fool wasn't one of them. He'd know everything about his members, especially potential successors."

"Okay. Let me get this right," Lisbon said, speaking slowly. "You'll get dirt on Abbot with the help of Visualize that will get the F.B.I. to work with us to take down the Blake Association?"

"And jobs if you want," Jane added, eyes holding hers. "I'll get you that promotion that you would've gotten years ago if it weren't for me. I'll try to get Cho, Rigsby, and Grace jobs, too, but… you're my priority."

"You hate the F.B.I.," she whispered, feeling her eyes glisten at the fact that he was trying to save her career.

"I hate the Blake Association more," he corrected, eyes burning with intensity, sparking like fire. "The job's not done yet, Lisbon. This is bigger than I ever thought, but it won't stop me. _Nothing_ will. Red John's network still lives. I will kill his legacy as he killed mine."

 _Charlotte Jane,_ she realized.

"We're going to use the F.B.I.'s resources once I get dirt on Abbot- "

"What if there's not any dirt?"

"There is."

Lisbon frowned at his confidence. "How do you know?"

"A feeling. There's something in his eyes. The way he walks, even talks. He's hiding something, and I'm going to find out what it is - and I will stretch whatever I can get out of it as much as possible."

"You're going to blackmail him?"

"He's clearly a rational man. He'll recognize that I can help the F.B.I. and him. We're going to destroy the rest of the Blake Association." The darkness she associated with Red John filled his eyes, and she hated it, unable to stop it. "History is written by the victors, Lisbon, and I want Red John's name erased from history. His legacy won't be death; it will be _nonexistent._ I win."

Lisbon tried to get away from the topic of Red John; even when dead, the monster still managed to exist. He lived rent-free in Jane's mind, and that may always be the case. She hoped it wouldn't be, and she'd do her best to ensure Jane moved on from the specter of Red John, but she was prepared for it all the same.

"The problem is, I don't have my gun anymore," she reminded, staring at him pointedly. "I _gave_ it to someone."

"You have several stashed here."

She rolled her eyes but felt her body tighten. "I'm not even going to ask how you know that, but… was it my gun that… you used to do it?"

"McAlister's," he assured, and she could breathe easier; she wouldn't be deemed an accessory, then. "Your gun was the distraction I needed. I knew I would be searched. When Cordero found what he was looking for, a weapon, he didn't try to look for anything else. He assumed when he shouldn't have."

"Are you the one who killed Cordero?"

"Self-defense. He shot first."

She tried to imagine the scene but realized that she couldn't; she found that it relieved her. The thought of Jane being surrounded by Red John's lackeys, along with Red John himself, horrified her. If she could imagine it, she might never sleep again.

"Then what else did you have with you?" she asked quickly. "What were you trying to hide? Why did you need to trick Cordero to stop looking?"

"Breadcrumbs and a pigeon."

Lisbon stared at him, trying to process the absurdity of what he had said. " _What?"_

"I also planted a gun under one of the pews prior to the meeting, which wasn't yours, but McAlister found out. I had to improvise. It didn't go exactly as I planned, but it still worked out. He's dead. I won."

"Did you… make his death look like self-defense?" she asked somewhat hopefully. "You know, like how we had talked about?"

Jane's eyes flickered. "He was about to kill me; it was self-defense."

His avoidance of directly answering her question notified her of the truth. "But it doesn't look that way, does it?"

"I attacked him, throwing myself at him," Jane answered flatly, voice cold, uncompromising. "I knocked the gun out of his hand, used the pigeon against him, and then shot him in the stomach. When he tried to run away, I shot him in the back. Then I shot him in the throat. I watched him die."

Lisbon's eyes closed, wishing she felt surprised. But she wasn't surprised, not at all. In fact, it was pretty tame to the worst things she had imagined Jane inflicting on Red John. But to die by a gunshot to the throat was to die with excruciating pain - and she knew Red John deserved it more than anyone she could think of. But it would be used as evidence against Jane if presented properly.

She refused to let that happen; she'd go along with his plan to get dirt on Abbot. They would take down the Blake Association.

"I guess there's no use in trying to get Abbot to see things your way," she acknowledged, sighing in consideration. "You'll have to get the dirt on him."

Jane nodded. "Exactly. I learned a long time ago never to argue with idiots, Lisbon. They drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience."

Lisbon nodded back in agreement, having been in that type of situation so many times she could scarcely recall even half of them.

A silence had fallen between them, but it was comfortable, peaceful. While she cherished it, she needed to keep talking to him, to reassure herself that he was still here, that he would stay here and not run away.

"You kept your promise," she whispered. "You survived."

Jane's eyes mesmerized her, and she dimly wondered if he was somehow hypnotizing her. "I want to live, not just survive. _You_ made me see that. Made me want it."

Lisbon blinked rapidly to discourage her tears, but it was futile; they came regardless. "Good. I've wanted nothing more for you than that."

"Give yourself some credit," he chided with a smile. "You deserve it. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you."

"You mean…?"

"I'm here not just because I want to destroy the Blake Association. I'm also here because of you. I did have a plan to run, to flee the country, but McAlister said that you were going to die, and it made me remember that day."

She frowned, not understanding. "What day?"

"For half an hour, I lived with the knowledge that you were dead," he whispered, his eyes locking on hers; she found it hard to breathe, his intensity was so tangible, and she knew exactly what he was talking about. "That terrible knowledge. I _lived_ in that reality. All I could think about was that I wouldn't ever hear your voice again. That I'd never see you smile. That I'd never again see the way your eyes look at me. It was all gone. Stolen from me."

Lisbon swallowed. "You're here for… _me?"_

Jane was quiet for several moments, but when he spoke, she knew it was with honesty. "Yes. If I vanished, that'd be gone all over again; it would be like you were dead. I couldn't live with that, not when… I couldn't breathe for that half-hour. Not when I knew I'd never sleep again."

"That's how it felt when you went to Vegas," she whispered back. "I was going crazy."

"I'm sorry."

"But you're here now," Lisbon said, awe spreading through her. This wasn't a dream. This was reality. "You didn't run."

"No."

Something suddenly occurred to her, and she stiffened, panic lighting her mind afire. "But what about Abbot? He might know you're here. He may be setting a trap."

Jane snorted. "Your faith in law enforcement is adorable."

"Be serious."

He sighed. "It's irrational for me to stay, purely sentimental, and Abbot knows that I'm rational. Logically, I'd never stay. He has his legions of brainwashed suits going to every airport, train station, bus station, and turnpike in the state. He'll _never_ think that I wouldn't run. It's perfect. While you're under watch, I won't be. I got into your apartment undetected even though you're being watched by the oh-so-conspicuous vehicle outside. I can avoid detection, Lisbon. While I get dirt on Abbot, I'll be invisible; only you'll know where I am. Don't worry about that."

Lisbon looked away. "That's not what I'm worried about."

When Jane's hand grabbed hers, she felt a calm descend over her; she looked back at him.

"We've walked through the fire and come out with burns," he whispered, holding her gaze. "But we're still here, and we're going to finish what we've started. We're moving forward; we're never going to be here again. I have a future, and I'm done rejecting it."

"Moving forward?" she echoed, eyes bright.

"With you," he clarified. "With everything. Once we destroy the Blake Association, all that will be left of Red John is a stain on that church's carpet. I can move on now. I want to. I want nothing more. I'm _not_ running. Even if Abbot somehow catches me before I get dirt on him, I'll escape whatever prison he throws me into, and I'll come back to you."

"That's not logical," she pointed out softly, digesting his words, the commitment behind them.

"I'm already here for sentimental reasons, Lisbon. It's not fun being that monster, being cold and rational."

Lisbon swallowed. "It wasn't fun watching you become that."

"I'm sorry," he said, and his honesty was tangible. "But you don't need to worry about that anymore. I'll have my moments, yes, but I feel free now. Why would I sabotage my freedom by being that monster, by running?"

"Most people would associate freedom _with_ running away."

Jane's lips curled. "Freedom is doing what I want, and I want to be here with you. And I want to destroy the Blake Association."

Her throat felt tight, and she exhaled roughly. "Good."

"I thought you'd see that."

"I don't pretend to know your insanely complicated thought process," she retorted, rolling her eyes. "But that's good to hear. I was worried."

"I know. That's why I'm telling you the truth. You don't have to worry about anything happening to me. We're already on the other side."

"What about Abbot?"

"I could hypnotize him into dropping all charges against me if he arrests me before I get the dirt on him."

Lisbon smiled despite herself. "That's not how it works."

"Bureaucratic nonsense doesn't appeal to me. You should know that by now. I've tried to show you the upside to using hypnosis on- "

"Maybe you'll have better luck with Abbot once you get dirt on him," she said dryly. "It was never going to happen at the C.B.I., believe me."

Jane stared at her, and she watched his features twist with regret. "I'm sorry about the C.B.I.'s dissolution. I had no idea about the Blake Association until- "

Lisbon cut him off, feeling tired. "I understand, Jane. It had to be done. The Blake Association was everywhere."

"They still are," he corrected. "And we're going to find them."

She was quiet, staring at him. "Together?"

"Yes."

Her eyes narrowed, a reprimand in her voice. "I seem to remember an instance not too long ago on a beach where you changed the game. You did it solo instead of together. It was quite the stunt."

Jane winced. "Not my best moment, but I was- "

Lisbon cut him off a little roughly. "I know _why_ you did it. You were going out of your mind, worrying about what Red John might do to me. You also wanted the moment for yourself, to have that unmasking just for you - well, and the other four."

"I'm sorry," he murmured, but there was a resoluteness in his gaze. "But I would have done it a thousand times if it meant you were away from his reach."

She sighed. "I know, but I'm still mad about it. What if McAlister had decided to kill you, then? So many things could have gone wrong, and I wasn't there to stop them from happening."

"But they _didn't_ happen, and I meant every word of what I said to you." Jane's gaze consumed her; she felt the intensity of his emotions wash over her flesh, searing her with a promise. "You have no idea what you've meant to me. You're why I'm here, still breathing, wanting to live instead of just survive, wanting to have that future. You gave that to me."

_Love you._

Lisbon, though, recognized that no declaration of that magnitude would be said, not today. Probably not until the fallout from Red John and the Blake Association was cleared away and things with the F.B.I. and Abbot cooled down. In fact, she felt certain that neither were ready for it right now, but that was okay. Red John was dead, and despite the rubble surrounding her life, in some ways, she felt that the future was never brighter.

Jane was right - they had already walked through the fire, borne the brunt of the worst. They were still here. More importantly, Jane was still here. They would live, not just survive - and they would do it together.

She gripped his hand, a small smile playing on her face. "Maybe I don't know what I've meant to you, but you know what _you've_ meant to me. You've given me a future by being here, by not running away. _Thank_ you."

Jane didn't respond, but the way his eyes held hers, it assured her more than his words could; it was enough. Lisbon felt all her lingering doubts about him running away vanish into the darkness of her mind; there, they would stay.

XxXxXxXxXxX

**That's it. I hope that you all enjoyed it.**

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